


To the Clicking of Time

by minkhollow



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Misses Clause
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-30
Updated: 2011-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minkhollow/pseuds/minkhollow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Claudia and Steve investigate a case in Ohio, and Claudia needs to be careful what she wishes for.  Set just after "Queen for a Day."</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Clicking of Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DV-Skitz (Skitz_phenom)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/gifts).



> This was an absolute joy of an assignment to write. Many thanks to Neb for the beta-read.  
> Not my characters; I'm just borrowing.

“I mean, I just feel like everything’s been either 19th-century-tastic or some runaway leftovers from Warehouse 2, you know?”

How Claudia got roped into helping make breakfast, she can’t say. But it’s not like she really minds; she’s more than patched things up with Leena since the Pearl of Wisdom incident, so not only is the conversation good, she’s got that extra reassurance against total kitchen meltdown. Besides, it’s been a while since she really got to show off her omelet-fu.

Leena shrugs mid-pancake flip. “What does that make Jimi Hendrix’s guitar, then, chopped liver?”

“Oh, not at all, that was chopped awesome. Doubly so since we got Jinksy out of the deal. I just - I like it better when I have a little context to go with the Artifact hunt. Something where I’m not regretting sleeping through that particular history lecture.”

“You like history more than you want to admit.”

Claudia eyes Leena for a moment, then turns back to her own skillet - she can fold omelets like a boss, but when she’s looking at something else? Not so much. “How do you figure that?”

“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here. Nor would you be enjoying your current history class so much. Your problem was your teachers - and the fact that Artie tends to only tell half the story.”

“No kidding. I’m just glad I won the ‘more info on the Artifact tags’ argument.” It only took Claudia a year and a half and three mishaps, not counting the Volta coat - but who’s counting if it worked out in the end?

Leena grins. “I think it helped that everyone pointed out that you were right, including Mrs. Frederic.”

Before Claudia can reply, Steve pokes his head into the kitchen. “Omelets? And pancakes, I’m liking today already.”

Claudia grins, and passes Steve a plate. “ _Omelette du fromage_ , in fact.”

“I know for a fact that’s not the password to your secret lab. Don’t come crying to me when it self-destructs.”

Claudia cracks up. “Oh, Jinksy, you watched all the best shows too.”

The three of them settle in with their breakfasts, and Pete and Myka aren’t long in joining them; Claudia’s starting to wonder if Artie’s going to try to skip breakfast and risk Wrath of Leena again when he comes in, loaded down with case files.

“I keep telling you to have breakfast before you go chasing pings,” Leena says; Artie grumbles something at her before scooping the most meat-tastic omelet Claudia made onto his plate.

“Pete, Myka, you’re going to Calgary,” he says, a few bites later. “There have been some disturbances at the Olympics grounds, we need to check that out before it gets any worse. Claudia--” he passes over a case file - “you and Steve will be going to Oxford.”

“England?” Steve says, leaning to read over Claudia’s shoulder.

Artie shakes his head. “Ohio. Four deaths there in the last two weeks, all apparent suicides, all people who showed no classic warning signs. And you will need to be _extremely_ careful.” He gives Claudia that over-the-glasses glare he usually saves for after she’s screwed something up, not before. “All four victims so far were male, and none were older than 30.”

Claudia flips through the case file. “That could just be because we’re talking about a college town here.”

“Or it could be because the Artifact has a type that Agent Jinks just so happens to fit. Indulge me?”

“Dude, relax, I’m not gonna let Jinksy die on me. How long do we have to pack?”

***

Four and a half hours, two hastily packed overnight bags and one layover in Minneapolis later, Claudia and Steve are in Cincinnati. Or, well, Kentucky, as it turns out - apparently they didn’t have the room to put the airport in the same state as the city. It’s a little weird, but one thing Claudia can say for Warehouse life: It won’t be the weirdest thing they see in Ohio.

“So what’s the story here?” Steve says, as he starts up the rental car.

“Well. From the sound of things, Oxford is Holy College Town, Batman. Doesn’t sound like there’s much to do there other than go to school, and there’s an electrical parts factory on the far side of town, but I’d bet that doesn’t have anything to do with the case.”

“I bow to your expertise, O Senior Agent.”

Claudia snorts. “Not ruling it out yet, Zen Master, it’s just that my first hunch isn’t there. As Artie said, you fit the surprise suicide demographic to a tee - assuming they _are_ suicides, anyway. No notes, no warning signs, nada.”

“Weird. Does it say how they died?”

“We have...” Claudia flips through the file again. “One drowning in a local park, one overdose on sleeping pills, one overdose on something a lot less legal, and one death by exhaust fumes. It’s not cold enough here for anyone to want to warm their car up first already, is it?”

Steve shrugs. “We’ll have to see about that when we get there.”

It’s not that cold in Oxford, as it turns out - and the drowning victim actually worked at the factory; maybe Claudia was wrong to half rule it out so quickly after all. They catch one of his coworkers, a tiny blonde woman who doesn’t strike Claudia as the factory-working type at all, outside the place (neither of them thought to bring steel-toed boots, so they can’t go in).

“Brandon was never really depressed or anything,” she says. “He liked to go out to the woods and think, but - no one saw this coming.”

“We got that impression,” Steve says. “Did you notice anything unusual before this happened?”

“No... well, yes. He was a little lost in thought, but he said he was fine every time I asked him about it. Didn’t have any reason to believe otherwise.”

Claudia nods and thanks the woman for her time; after she goes, she turns to Steve. “So, Human Polygraph, how’d she do?”

“She wasn’t lying. Whatever got to the guy, I don’t think it was here.”

“Why do you say that?”

Steve waves a hand at the plant’s back door. “The people who’ve been coming out are at least ten years older than me on average. The woman we just talked to and our Artifact victim skew younger than that. Did anyone else in the file have ties here?”

Claudia flips through the case file for what seems like the millionth time. “Looks like no,” she says. “One local, one doctoral candidate and one undergrad. Think it’s something downtown?”

“Only one way to find out.”

***

Downtown, as it happens, is actually uptown. Claudia can kind of see it, once Steve points out they’ve come uphill from the factory to get there, and it’s actually pretty hopping for such a dinky place - at least for four blocks or so.

After a late lunch at an Indian place that’s half empty but entirely awesome, they decide to go talk to the local kid’s family and see if that offers up any leads. At first, Claudia thinks no one’s home - there’s no cars in the driveway, anyway - but then she sees one of the front curtains drop closed.

“Okay, so we’ve been spotted,” she says. “But... isn’t this a school day?”

“I couldn’t get through a full day of classes for two weeks after Livvie died,” Steve points out. “Besides, how did you feel after your brother disappeared?”

“Point taken.” Claudia undoes her seat belt. “Let’s do this thing, then.”

The person who spotted them turns out to be the victim’s kid brother; he’s clearly been crying, but he agrees to talk to them anyway.

“We’ll make it quick,” Claudia says, kicking herself for not thinking of the grief thing sooner. “We were just wondering if you noticed anything unusual in Jeremy’s behavior before he...”

The kid shrugs. “It’s... hard to say. He was having trouble sleeping ever since Mom died last year. But he wasn’t acting that depressed or anything. He went up to Brick Street last week, and after that he...” He sighs. “This is gonna sound really weird.”

“Trust me, we’ve probably heard worse. Hit us.”

“He said he kept hearing Mom. I didn’t, Dad didn’t, I don’t know why he was saying that, but... he was sure about it. That was really the only weird thing before Dad found him.”

Steve frowns. “That’s definitely interesting. What’s a Brick Street?”

“Oh, right - it’s a bar. Up on High Street, they named it because... well, bricks. In the street. They started doing open mic nights a month or so ago. This was the first time Jeremy went.” The kid takes a deep, shaky breath. “Do you think... something happened there?”

“We don’t know,” Claudia says. “But we’re going to find out what happened to your brother. I promise.”

Once they’ve re-settled into the rental car, Claudia pulls out her Farnsworth; it’s a long time, but eventually, Leena picks up. “Hey, Claudia. You guys find anything out yet?”

“Possible connection to a bar down - uptown,” she says, “but we only just found out about that. Where’s Artie?”

“Out on the floor. Pete and Myka are having trouble with a rogue bobsled, and he wanted to check something.”

Claudia blinks. “O...kay then. Anyway, when he comes back, let him know we’re working on it and we’ll call back when we know for sure.”

“Will do.”

Claudia closes the Farnsworth and leans back in her seat; at the next stop sign, Steve glances over. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. I just feel like a heel for assuming the dude’s family would be fine, you know? I mean, I really should’ve known better.”

“Well, it has been a while since you’ve been in that position. I think you can be forgiven.”

Claudia sighs. “I know, but I’ll feel a lot better when we’ve got whatever this is bagged.”

***

“Welcome to Brick Street,” the hostess says, the second they walk in the door; Claudia can’t tell if she’s overly perky or just trying to make sure they can hear her over the TVs. “Table for two?”

Steve flashes his badge before Claudia can come up with anything. “Actually, we were hoping to speak to your manager,” he says. “Are they in?”

The hostess frowns. “Yeah, he’s... I don’t see why the liquor license wouldn’t be current, but I’ll go get him. Just a minute.”

As she leaves, Claudia smiles a little. “Dude, your badge gets the best reactions. Everyone just trips up on the president with the Secret Service ones.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yes, Claud, that’s exactly why I picked the ATF. It was all about how people react to the badge.”

Claudia snickers, but puts on her best Srs Business face when the hostess comes back with her boss, a black guy a few years older than Steve. She knows she doesn’t look the part of Srs Government Agent the way Myka and Steve - and even Pete, sometimes - do, but she can give it her best shot, right?

“Good afternoon,” the guy says. “How can I help you two today?”

“We were wondering if you could tell us anything about these four guys,” Claudia says, pulling the photos out of the case file. “Specifically, how often they’ve been here.”

The guy takes the photos, frowning as he looks them over. “He was a regular,” he says, handing back one photo - the drowning victim, according to the back. “This guy was in a few times, did his first open mic last week. People really seemed to like him.”

Claudia glances at Steve; he’s frowning at the photo of the townie in turn. “How about the other two?”

“I don’t recognise this one, but it’s possible he was in on one of my off weekends. And--” The guy stops short on the last photo. “Charlie, what did you get yourself mixed up in this time?” he says, half to himself.

“You know him?” Steve says.

“He works here. Or, well, he did. He had some problems, almost dropped out because of them a few times, but he was getting himself back on track. The open mic night was his idea.”

Claudia frowns. “I don’t suppose he ended up running your sound board or anything?”

The guy nods. “He did. He helped with the setup, the cleanup, pretty much everything to do with those. Why do you ask?”

“Can we see your equipment?”

The guy leads them to a back room that’s jam-packed with musical equipment. There’s a little bit of everything - sound boards, guitars, microphones, more stuff than Claudia would think the place would need for an open mic night, but then, she’s never tried to run one before.

Steve sighs, pushes a stand out of his way, and pulls on a pair of gloves. “This is going to take us a while, isn’t it.”

“Probably,” Claudia says, pulling on some gloves of her own and digging the Farnsworth out of her tool belt. “Fortunately for us, we have a big-ass computer on our side.”

Leena answers the call again. “Artie’s still on bobsled duty,” she says. “How’s your lead panning out?”

“Two out of four victims confirmed as having been here before, and a third worked here,” Claudia says. “The employee set up an open mic night and at least one of the other guys performed at one of those. I’m thinking from that that it’s got to do with the equipment.”

Leena makes a face. “Musical Artifacts are rarely a good thing in the first place, and if this one’s causing inadvertent suicides...” She looks away from the Farnsworth, typing something into the computer.

“Well, if it were a drum set, I’d be saying Keith Moon, but that actually--” Claudia shoves past a sound board into the room’s far corner - “seems to be the one thing they don’t have on hand. I mean, if I were going to do one of these things, which I’m not--”

“But you should--”

“-- _Which I’m not_ , I’d bring my own guitar, but to each their own. Anyway, other than Keith Moon, I’m pretty much out of ideas. Jim Morrison, maybe?”

Leena shakes her head. “Artie’s pretty sure that his death had something to do with Robert Johnson’s guitar, which we can safely rule out because one of the victims in this case was 29 and none of them are particularly famous. Let’s see... the system search pulled up the Van Zant family’s sound board, Marc Bolan’s microphone and Kurt Cobain’s guitar strap.”

“I don’t think it’s the sound board,” Steve says, examining a box of guitar picks. “Only one of the four victims would’ve been in any position to handle it, from what we know.”

Claudia looks around the room. “We got microphones coming out our ears, though,” she says, “and there’s probably a few guitar straps hanging around here. It’s a place to start. Thanks, Leena.”

She closes the Farnsworth, the better to help Steve start packing things into static bags. But none of the microphones spark, nor do the four guitar straps they unearth.

Steve sighs. “Great. Just great. Maybe it’s not here in the first place.”

“I dunno, I still think it’s something in here. Three out of four victims were definitely here, the fourth maybe was... maybe we just didn’t get any sparky action because it’s not currently affecting anyone?”

Steve doesn’t answer.

“Hello, Earth to Jinksy, seeking your thoughts on yaoi here.”

Steve still doesn’t answer.

“Steve?” Claudia pushes through the equipment to get over to him; he looks... untethered, like he’s paying attention to something happening on the second floor or something. She waves a hand in front of his face, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “You okay?”

“Livvie?”

That sinking feeling goes into free-fall.

***

Claudia wastes no time in getting the keys away from Steve; if he’s been Artifact-whammied by something that results in dead bodies, the last thing she wants is him behind the wheel. They stop at a deli for dinner - she all but has to drag Steve in with her, but like hell she’s leaving him alone - and take the sandwiches to a hotel not far off High Street, where she digs out the Farnsworth once again.

“What?” Artie says; he looks more than a little pissed off, and Claudia wishes she still felt like needling him with a crack about that bobsled business he’s been working on all day, but she’s got more important things to get to.

“Steve’s been Artifact-whammied.”

Artie sighs. “Of course he has. Didn’t I tell you to be careful?”

“I was! He was too! Neither of us are Pete here! And really, it’s all good so far, he’s just hearing his dead sister, no big deal.” If she’s laying on the sarcasm a little thick... well, she doesn’t like Artie implying she’s never careful just because her impulsive streak runs deep.

“Hearing his - what were you two even handling? Leena filled me in on your lead.”

“Yeah, and we were going through the bar’s equipment to try to see... what...” She trails off, replaying the scene in her mind. “Oh, crap.”

“Give me something to work with, Claudia.”

“Leena suggested a microphone, but - would there be any microphone stands that might fit the bill here? Steve pushed one out of his way before he got gloved up.”

Artie pushes his glasses up to rub the bridge of his nose, then turns to the computer. “I don’t know about - oh. Oh, this is not good. Does this look like the stand?” He turns the Farnsworth to show Claudia the image he pulled up, of a guy at a battered-looking mic stand.

“I... guess? I don’t know, I didn’t really get a good look at - is that Jeff Buckley?”

“It is.”

Claudia spares a glance in Steve’s direction - he still hasn’t touched his sandwich - and whistles. “Jeff Buckley’s microphone stand. Suddenly the age range of the victims makes a lot more sense.”

“ _Tim_ Buckley’s microphone stand,” Artie corrects. “It was well on its way to having Artifact properties before Jeff got anywhere near it.”

“Father and son musicians who used the same equipment?”

“And both died young to boot. That thing coming into contact with two members of the same family only amplified its properties, it - fills you with a deep, profound longing for what you can’t possibly have in this world.”

“Or who,” Claudia says. “Hey, what killed Buckley Senior?”

“Heroin overdose. Why do you ask?”

“One drowning and two overdoses out here. I’m kinda wondering if car exhaust guy was unrelated - we could only confirm three victims as going to this bar.”

“Possible,” Artie says, “but either way, you have to get this stand neutralized as quickly as possible. Go.”

He hangs up, and Claudia facepalms. “I have _got_ to learn to be careful what I wish for.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, good, you’re alive over there. Grab your sandwich, Jinksy, we got ourselves an Artifact to bag.”

Steve shrugs. “I’m not really hungry.”

“Fine, don’t grab the sandwich, then. But you’re coming along anyway. I am not coming back here to find out you’ve chased your sister off the roof or something.”

“Why would I do that? She’s...” He does the staring into space thing again.

Claudia sighs. “Shoes, Steve. Now. We are going to get this fixed.”

She has to keep poking him to get his shoes back on and leave; it’s about twenty minutes before they finally get underway, and when they finally pull up in front of Brick Street again, he doesn’t want to get out of the car. Claudia almost considers leaving him there, but she’s not going to leave him unsupervised until they get this thing put down, no way.

At least they have a can of goo and not just the static bags.

The manager they talked to earlier is at the host’s stand, this time. “Did something else come up?” he says. “What’s... is he all right?”

“He will be,” Claudia says. “We need to see your equipment again, and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

He leads them to the back room again - fortunately, it isn’t an open mic night, so no one’s trying to use the equipment they’re there to corral - and leaves them be. Steve just kind of leans in the doorway, reminding Claudia more than a little of that time Sylvia Plath’s typewriter got its claws in Pete, except for where he’s not going grey around the edges.

“Okay,” she says, pulling a pair of gloves on and popping open the can of goo. “Let’s do this like Leeroy Jenkins.”

She makes short work of taking the stand apart, then dunks the whole thing into the canister at once, getting all the sparky action they’d been hoping for earlier and then some. She slams the lid back on and secures it before it goes critical, and screws her eyes shut; when the light show dies down, she opens her eyes again.

“Claud? You okay?”

Claudia looks up at Steve and grins. “I’m cool if you’re cool, Jinksy.”

***

They go home the next morning, after a pit stop in a novelty shop that reeks of incense; Claudia gets some new buttons for her bags and tool belt and a big bag of Jelly Bellies to ‘give to Pete,’ by which she means ‘eat on the plane.’ She’s more than happy to continue the food feud he started with the biscotti until he manages to get something back uneaten.

“ _They say every man can be replaced, they say every distance is not near..._ ”

Claudia doesn’t usually unwind after a case with her guitar, but there was just something about this one that made it seem appropriate - in the safety of her room, of course, where people are a lot less likely to hear her.

“ _So I remember every face of every man who put me here._ ”

Sometimes it helps her think, even though she doesn’t usually need that after a case. But... well, this was bad enough; she can’t imagine how Myka felt when the Spine thing glommed onto Pete, or just how badly he was doing with Man Ray’s camera in play. It’s one of those moments where she wonders if she’s really ready for the field work.

But at the same time, she loves the Warehouse, and she’s not about to hide in it while everyone else has all the fun.

“ _I see my light come shining from the west un--_ ”

“Claud?”

Claudia about swallows her tongue, and somehow manages not to drop her guitar; once she’s recovered, she gives Steve a sheepish smile. “Hey.”

“Oh, don’t stop on my account. You’re good.”

Claudia rolls her eyes. “Not really, I mean, anyone can sing better than Bob Dylan.”

“This is true. But Leena was right. You should go to an open mic thing yourself.”

“No, no, I really shouldn’t. It’s not my thing.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at her. “You’re lying.”

“God, Jinksy, do you have to do that every time?” Claudia sighs. “I just... don’t want to put myself out there and have the whole world say ‘you suck, GTFO.’ I know what my strengths are and this ain’t one, it’s just something my foster mother thought would help me make friends.”

“Well, obviously you took to it a little, or you wouldn’t still be playing.” Steve sits down on the other end of Claudia’s bed. “And I don’t think you’d go over as badly as you think you would. Something to keep in mind.”

“I guess. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to say thanks. For keeping on me when things went bad. You’re really good at staying on task in the field.”

Claudia grins. “Hey, no problem. I meant what I said, I'm not gonna let you die on me. And that was actually not the worst I’ve seen - remind me to tell you about Artie and Mata Hari’s stockings sometime.”

“As... long as he wasn’t wearing them, I would love to hear that story.”

“Did you have to share that mental image, Jinksy? Really, pass the brain bleach.”

Steve laughs. “Oh, and Pete and Myka are finally back from Canada. Seems they got stuck dealing with the bobsled the Jamaican team crashed during their Olympic run.”

“What, seriously? I thought that was just a movie.”

“Based on a true story - but if it happened in your lifetime, you’re probably too young to remember.” Steve goes quiet for a few minutes, then sighs. “I think I’m gonna put in for some personal time next week.”

“You are?”

“Livvie’s birthday is next Thursday. I try to visit when I can, and after the mess in Oxford, I... think I need it.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Just don’t get yourself Artifact-whammied again while you’re gone - Pete and Myka have a nasty habit of doing that.” Claudia picks out a few notes, just to have something to do with her hands as long as her guitar’s still in them; she doesn’t connect it to a tune at first, but then Steve brightens.

“Hey, ‘Kooks,’ keep going.”

“Steeeeve...”

“Claud, if you don’t want to sing it, I will. I know all the words to this one.”

Claudia grins. “All right. I think I can work with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> If possible, I would have given this fic an audio title; "Grace" fed a lot into my inspiration, and the bit that I feel captures the fic best (from about 3:40 to 4:05) is entirely instrumental, so I went for the next best line.  
> At the end, Claudia is singing "I Shall Be Released," which I know best by the Band but couldn't resist throwing in after I found out Jeff Buckley covered it.  
> This year's bits of local color: Krishna (super-excellent lamb korma), Brick Street (I've never actually been there, but it is a real bar), La Bodega (blink and you'll miss it, it's the deli) and Wildberry (Claudia would so love their buttons).


End file.
